Pivotal to our family research and reunion which we celebrated last year, was Alexander Jarvis Bern. His death at Aubers Ridge in Flanders in The Great War was the common ancestry that drew forgotten branches of the family together as we researched and discovered our shared heritage. This spring it was with great pride and sadness that sixteen of our side of the family travelled to France to visit the cemetery where he is commemorated, on the centenary of that fateful day, 9th May, 1915.
Our party comprised: Mark, Mum, Dad and I travelling from our corner of Yorkshire; my Aunty Ella, cousin Lesley and her partner (another Mark) from Richmond and York; my cousin Rod and his French wife Marie from Paris, along with their daughters Helene (and her partner Julian) and Jo; my Uncle Alex (Alexander’s namesake, of course) and Aunty Jackie from Perth in Australia, and her sister Mary and husband Martin from Northampton who, by amazing coincidence, had also each lost great uncles on the same day in the same battle!
A few were unable to come, but were with us in spirit. My Dan was busy at University helping ITV with covering the General Election count on the day we travelled, while Mum’s cousin Alex and his wife Anne, and their son John, and Jeni Bern had other commitments.
Mum, Dad, Mark and I enjoyed an enjoyable night in Folkestone on Thursday 7th, prior to our Channel Tunnel crossing. We stayed at The Portland Hotel and, thanks to Tripadvisor, had a fantastic Greek meal at The Meze House which was well worth seeking out.
On Friday we took the 10.20am tunnel crossing and despite the train being slightly late leaving after we boarded, we were impressed with the ease of the experience. Unfortunately there was an air of stunned depression in the car as we listened to the radio and came to terms with the election news.
Once on the other side we took the scenic route rather than the motorways and stopped by the sea at Wimereux for lunch. Continuing our leisurely route we arrived late afternoon at the B&B, Au 21, tucked away obscurely in a residential suburb in Dainville. We were highly impressed with the accommodation; while Mum and Dad had a luxurious suite in the main house, Mark had booked the cute bijou garden cabin for us.
Mum, Dad and Mark in Le Bateau du Ch’ti, Arras
Heading into Arras for the evening, we very much admired its two lovely squares, which appeared quite unspoilt. Architecturally we were reminded of Bruges, but Arras is not a tourist trap, so there was not a gift shop in sight. After the usual family squabbles we settled on Le Bateau du Ch’ti for dinner, which we all enjoyed very much. Provisional plans to meet up with some of the rest of the family didn’t materialise. We learned later that Mary and Martin (along with 60 other passengers) had missed their plane due to circular roadwork diversions at Luton airport earlier in the day! As a result Alex and Jackie were delayed from picking them up from Charles de Gaulle and so the four of them were late arriving at their hotel in Arras.
We made a prompt start on the morning of Saturday 9th May and headed north east to our rendezvous at Le Touret cemetery where we found Alex, Jackie, Mary and Martin already there. A while later the rest of our party arrived in convoy from Paris. It was wonderful to catch up with all these relatives, some of whom I’d not seen for years. It was good to meet some new faces too and introduce Mark. I wore a Black Watch tartan kilt and scarf as a tribute to my great grandfather’s own regimental dress, along with tights and a jacket in my customary yellow; hopefully symbolising new life and better days. I forgave my Uncle Alex calling me a canary.
It was a chilly, breezy morning and there followed quite a bit of waiting around as more and more people arrived to commemorate the futile Aubers Ridge offensive that had claimed 11,000 lives that day alone, a hundred years ago.
Coaches arrived bearing a brass band and eventually a large contingent from Sussex who proceeded to lead a memorial service. Although the organisation (or rather lack of it) was ironically in keeping with the general chaos and inadequate leadership that characterised WW1, the readings, prayers, hymns, sentiment and the sounding of the Last Post were deeply moving.
Alexander Jarvis Bern commemorated at Le Touret cemetery
After the service at the cenotaph, we moved to pay our own respects with a short ceremony put together by my aunties, which we held in front of the wall where my great-grandfather’s name is engraved. We laid a wreath and then did the same for Jackie and Mary’s great uncle, Fred Walding and Martin’s, John Wykes, under their names. None of the three had graves.
By this time, we had been at the cemetery for about three hours, so it was with some relief that we headed to the warmth of our cars and travelled in convoy to nearby Bethune. We were very fortunate to find Le Zinc was able to squeeze in for lunch 16 rowdy assorted characters spanning three generations with various languages and accents. Thankfully the Paris contingent acted as translators for the bewildered staff who had already waited patiently for every one of us to use the one WC before we could begin the process of ordering food!
It was another enjoyable meal and I had a great time chatting to my lovely cousins, Rod Devlin and Lesley Devlin. Rod had researched and put together for each of us a commemorative binder with Alexander Jarvis Bern’s photograph on the cover in his regimental Black Watch kilt, containing an hour by hour account of the battle that day. As we neared the end of the meal he and I rallied everyone as quickly as possible in order to head back to find the spot where we believe the Black Watch went over the top, so that we could be there at the exact time. The records read:
3.57pm: The leading companies of the 1/Black Watch of 1st (Guards) Brigade, brought in to replace the shattered 2nd Brigade, went over the top despite the 1/Cameron Highlanders being late to arrive and moved at the double across No Man’s Land. Some reached the German breastwork just as the bombardment lifted; most were however killed or captured in the German firing trench although a small party reached the second position.
According to family legend, my great grandmother, Jane, was told by a surviving colleague of my great grandfather that he had got to a position of safety but then went back to rescue his commanding officer who had fallen, and was then shot himself. He claimed that Alexander would have been awarded a VC for this had it been witnessed by the requisite two officers. Medal or no medal, the fact that any of these men were even there at all breaks my heart.
Somewhere here, we believe my great grandfather died trying to rescue his fallen commanding officer
We found what we believe to be the cinder track referred to in the battle plan maps and headed alongside the field where the trenches had been, trying to comprehend how this now innocuous, fairly dull, countryside must have looked in the horror of those times. I have to confess I found it hard, but we tried and I hope, somehow, that counts for something. Some of us tied our poppies to a fence and picked around in the ploughed field collecting pieces of rusted metal we believe may be relics.
Our tributes paid, we made our way back into Arras where the 16 of us had a late afternoon drink in a cellar bar before the eight who had travelled down from Paris for the day said their farewells. We went back to Dainville for a short rest and refresh, then met up with Alex, Jackie, Mary and Martin for dinner. Once again we were lucky to find a good restaurant, La Palerme, which catered well for the wide range of preferences and dietary requirements among our party.
The following day, Sunday, we enjoyed a more leisurely start. We had planned to visit the Wellington Quarry underground museum but were distracted first by a holiday street market and then were unable to get on a morning tour. After a quick coffee break we headed into the countryside instead to visit L’Abbaye du Mont-Saint-Eloi, which inspired Vaughan Williams’ Pastoral Symphony.
Mark Vader
An added bonus was that a medieval fair was in progress. As my friend Linda observed when she saw our excited Facebook posts, it’s amazing that wherever we go, we always manage to find the loonies. Well, she may be right, but of course we were in our element amongst the re-enactors.
Our next stop was the ruins of the C16th Sainte-Nazaire church which the French themselves destroyed to prevent the Germans from using it as a lookout point.
From there it was just a short hop to The Notre-Dame de Lorette, Frances’ largest national cemetery, church and monument commemorating the loss of 100,000 men in the reconquest of this ground in May 1915. The cemetery has nearly 20,000 graves, and the remains of 23,000 unknown soldiers.
Notre-Dame de Lorette
Mark made an interesting observation that its opulent grandeur in some ways perpetuates the glorification of war and could instil the patriotic fervour of youth to new futile heroism in wars today. He has a point. So much for ‘the war to end all wars’.
After our own futile attempts to get served in the café facility, I eventually managed to ascertain that lunch was no longer being served, and so we retreated back to the abbey ruins and our lovely medieval fair for some French sausage and chips instead!
Returning to Au 21 to regroup, we headed out in the evening to meet up with Alex, Jackie, Mary and Martin who had managed to do the underground museum tour and were full of its praises.
Having so enjoyed the traditional French cuisine at Le Bateau du Ch’ti on our first evening in Arras, we persuaded the others we should head there. I couldn’t resist having the fish soup again despite lots of other tempting dishes. In fact I think I will be dreaming about it until I can go again it was so good!
And we will have to go again, because despite my desperate persuasion of the rest of the family that we would have time to do the underground museum tour in the morning before our tunnel crossing, when it came to it the tour times worked against us again. Instead we hit the toll motorways and headed straight for Calais and the cheap wine superstore to stock up till… well next week at least before we have to call on Grassington Wine shop again!
So, there you have it, our commemorative trip was over and we said goodbye to the green fields of France with their hideous legacy, and to Alexander Jarvis Bern.
“There was a lad baith frank and free
Cam’doon the bonnie banks o’ Dee
Wi’ tartan plaid and buckled shoon,
An’ he’ll come nae mair to oor toon.
He dwells within a far countree
Where great ones do him courtesie,
They’ve gien him a golden croon,
An he’ll come nae more to oor toon”
From Rememberance Day by Marion Angus.